At least Noah was only stuck inside the fish for three days, but I've been here for years... 

Ten years ago, we were met with the greatest crisis of our era. The air on the surface was no longer viable. We had two options: find a habitable point in space or find a way to settle underwater unaffected by air pollution. Both proposals were considered, but one was definitely more feasible than the other. They say we know more about the moon than the ocean. Well, that had to change now.

The first time I learned I was disposable was when they disregarded my thalassophobia. My fear of the ocean was so bad that I had medical exemptions from being near the sea. That was completely ignored. No forms I could provide were sufficient to exempt me from this mission. I convinced myself it was for the greater good, but nowadays, I wonder what that is. Why must we be willing to sacrifice for the good of others? I can believe in my existence, but not that of others. If I die, how can I be sure others lived?

Despite how much I dreaded being in the ocean, being inside the submarine made me feel like I was in a simulation for a while. Once I reached unknown depths, I could no longer see my surroundings. I was reluctantly following my radar and unclear signals from my supervisors. Their sounds got more muffled as I proceeded. I did not see the point in carrying on with the mission. We weren't finding anything, and it was getting increasingly difficult to communicate. Despite my insistence on returning, I was told to continue for no particular reason. This was the second time I learned I was disposable. I was made to continue on a hopeless mission even if it put me at risk.

The thalassophobia really hit when I lost all signal. I knew it was inevitable, but I panicked. Suddenly, I could hear nothing more from my commanders. I shook the machine. I slapped it. I changed the batteries again and again. While doing all this, I was shivering. My hands were unsteady. Tasks that took two minutes took hours. When nothing else worked, I cried in agony. What would you do if you had a panic attack in the middle of the ocean? I buried my face in my arms. I slapped vigorously on the sides of my head. I was wheezing. I could have died then, but somehow I held onto the little hope I had. They would come for me. They would rescue me. It hadn't been long since I lost signal, and I hadn't moved much since then. I wasn't going to perish in the ocean, right?

This was the third time I learned I was disposable. Days passed, and no one came. Eventually, I was swallowed by a giant fish. I think it is a fish. I can't be sure. I was barely aware that I was swallowed since all my surroundings were dark. It was when I started experiencing the creature's peristalsis, which was so different with much more force than the ocean currents, that I realized I was inside this thing. The sounds of its moans confirmed what little suspicions I had.

The creature was a sick monster; I soon came to realize. Its intentions for keeping me alive were sadistic. Yes, I was sure that it was intentionally keeping me alive. I've seen larger and sturdier objects fizzle away and vanish instantly in its organic fluids. This thing was able to voluntarily control its digestion. The only time it threatened me was when I got out of my submarine to harvest some of its blood vessels and intestinal villi. At that point, it would cry out in exaggerated pain- a horrible moan. I think it only felt the sting of accidentally banging its hand on a table, but as revenge, my ship was flung back and forth across the walls of its organs and dipped in its acid that burned away the outsides. Nevertheless, I had to go out and risk harvesting the creature's organs again. It was my only form of nourishment, and it wasn't bad. It kept me alive and reasonably healthy. Researchers would have a field day with this. Maybe they could also help me understand the whims of this creature that controlled my fate.

For the past few years, I had been trying to navigate this thing's intestines, but as far as I knew, it could stretch for thousands and thousands of miles. The worst part was that just when I was getting somewhere, the creature released its toxic fluids from the organ walls. It carried me deeper into the pits of its guts into new unknown territory. It was another sadistic game of its. I still kept hope for some stupid reason. It was the only way I could survive- to believe I had some control of my situation. Slowly, I was reaching my wit's end. I stared at my submarine while resting my head in my arms. My hands were still burned from encountering the acid repeatedly. Once I was concerned about my hair balding. Now I just wished I had some intact skin left up there. I gazed at my ship repairs. Pipes and structures were initially taped together. Then they were tied together by the creature's entrails and fibers. They were flimsier than thread, but I had to believe it would work.

I had to believe in it the same way you believed you could be held up by a chair until its leg broke off. Then you fixed it or glued it together, and once again you could believe the chair would hold you up. I believed my ship would hold together until it didn't and I had to fix it again. I thought of all the safety protocols it had gone through to prepare for the mission. Would it pass any of them now? I looked at the scraps I had remaining to fix this thing next time: some broken copper wires, a nail cutter, a shovel..., and more useless stuff... The next food run would most likely be my last.

I often wondered what I would do if I escaped. I could kill this thing, harvest its organs, bring samples back up, and be hailed as an innovative hero..., but most likely I would discover for the fourth time that I was just disposable. On the other hand, I could simply live the remainder of my days in this creature. Why did I need to be ungrateful to something that provided me accommodation and nourishment regardless of its true intention? I would have to live by other people's caprice anyway. Inside the creature, I somehow felt calm. My thalassophobia didn't bother me much.